Page 58 of Love You Always

Taking another sip, I wait for Ella to agree. Then I plan to move on. When I hear nothing, I look at her and find her resting her chin on a fist, waiting me out. “Okay, that’s a nice story. Put that on the back of your Buttercup Hill brochure if it’s not there already. How about the rest?”

It’s too nice of a day to be inside doing this. I glance around my living room, searching for some shiny object I can use to distract her from asking questions about my dad. Instead, I lean forward and capture her lips with mine. She acquiesces instantly as I cup her cheek and my hand glides into her hair. There was no reason to look far and wide for a distraction.

Except that a moment later, she pushes me away with both hands against my chest. “Nice try, big guy. What else can you tell me about your dad?”

“You mean the dementia?”

She shakes her head. “No. Before that. What was he like?”

“Why do you want to know this so badly? Are you secretly doing research for a biopic about a winemaker?”

“No, but interesting idea.” She folds her legs beneath her and shakes out her hair, sending the ribbons of curls skating over her shoulders.

I hem and haw and think about ways to avoid this conversation until it finally dawns on me that I want her to know me better. Which means I need to share this part of myself I’d rather keep hidden.

“My dad was tough. Hardworking, unforgiving of weakness, a real ballbuster…but I loved him. Still do.”

“Does your feeling about not wanting to be a father have anything to do with him?”

I open my mouth to answer but no words come out. “No one’s ever asked me that.”

“I’m asking.”

Running a hand through my hair, I try to harken back to the first time I concluded that I shouldn’t have kids. It was some time around when I came back to Napa to take over for him. “I guess, partly. I just saw how limited he was as a parent when he was running the business. I never wanted to do that to a kid, never wanted to be a half-assed dad. And I have no choice about running the business, so…” I put up my hands. Discussion over, as far as I’m concerned.

“So that’s it? You just sign up to be a working stooge and give up on your dream of having a family?”

“It’s not like that, exactly. I guess I…never really had a dream of having a family, so it’s not really giving anything up. My dad always saw me as a younger version of him, but drawing the line here is a way I can be better.”

I wait for her reaction, assuming she’ll try to argue me out of my stance. Instead, she nods and looks away.

“You’re great with Fiona. I’m sure you’d be an awesome dad, but I understand how an idea can take hold and grow roots. Then, no matter what, no one can talk you out of it.” She nods sadly. “Just like no one could talk me out of wanting to be a mom.”

I can’t tell if there’s more she isn’t saying, so I wait, but she curls up against me again, so I decide that maybe she’s satisfied with my response. I thought it would be hard. I thought sharing my feelings about my dad would make me feel exposed.

With her, it feels like an unburdening. And when I watch her face, soberly taking in every detail, reaching for my hand when I have trouble articulating a feeling, nodding in understanding, not judgement…it feels like love.

So I keep going.

“I didn’t want to be him. Desperately wanted to go my own way, prove I could do it differently. Be less of an asshole in the process, have a family I’d actually get to spend time with, find a world that wanted me for me, not just because of a legacy built by someone else.”

“What kind of start-up?”

I shake my head. “It’s not a great idea. I don’t know what I was thinking back then. Now it sounds dumb, even to me.”

Her hand tucks under my chin and she swivels my face to look at her. “Hey. Don’t assume I’m going to reject your idea before I’ve even heard it. Try me.”

Our faces are inches apart and I could close the distance and kiss her. That would end the discussion and I’d be spared seeing the look of disappointment on her face when she realizes I’m not as smart and innovative as I thought I was when I packed up and moved to LA. I like the idea that she thinks I’m a somewhat savvy winemaker and would really prefer to leave it at that.

“Come on, tell me,” she urges quietly. Her accepting, patient eyes make me want to make her happy.

“Fine. It’s basically a wine encyclopedia in an app. Kind of like the ones where you scan a leaf or a flower and the app tells you what kind of plant it is and where it grows, this would give you all the tasting notes for a bottle of wine based on scanning the label.”

I wait for signs of boredom or disinterest, but she nods. “Go on.”

“The app would tell you the best window to drink whatever bottle of wine you scan, and there are ecommerce opportunities with food pairings, so you could order grazing boards or full menus to go with specific wines and have it all delivered. There’s more to it—other co-branding opportunities and revenue streams, but those are the basics.”

Ella’s expression goes blank. She shakes her head, and I worrythat I’ve lost her in the details or maybe she realizes it really isn’t a very good idea.

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